


One Bad Dream

by CaraLea



Series: How It Comes Together [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, canon typical cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraLea/pseuds/CaraLea
Summary: Tucker accidentally talks in his sleep about a certain blue-clad Freelancer, and Caboose overhears...originally a short but due to popular demand, it's going on as a story. I'm just gonna write until I decide to stop.*hiatus*





	1. Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Tags might change so keep an eye out!

**Nightmare**

Tucker slammed the door to his quarters open and immediately regretted it. The reverberation from the door shook his aching muscles, jarring them in places he didn't know he had. Just another reminder at how pathetic he was.

Not that he needed one. Stupid fucking Washington reminded him every chance he fucking got. Letting that excuse for a Freelancer on Blue Team was a mistake. He wasn't Church, so he should stop acting like it. _Church_ was their leader, not this pompous asshole.

Tucker shut his door with less enthusiasm than before, blocking out the world around him without killing himself in the process. The silence of his quarters was soothing on his aching head. Once he had shared quarters with Caboose and Church. Wash refused to share sleeping space with either of them, which was fine by Tucker, as it meant he didn't have to be around the jerk 24 hours a day. Only 21. How great.

As for Caboose…well, ever since Wash had established his own space, Tucker had set out to do the same. It was easy enough convincing Caboose to sleep somewhere else. However, the vapid warrior sometimes still forgot and meandered into Tucker's room still thinking they shared. Most of the time, Tucker put a lock on the door, however, since their crash, he hadn't had the resources to. Instead he just had to deal with an ever present Caboose. Luckily, living in a strange place had taken a toll on Caboose. He rarely wandered in anymore because he couldn't find the place to begin with.

Stupid Washington. The strict military man would expect him awake within a few short hours. Tucker didn't think Wash got any sleep himself. Good. The worse off for Wash, the better for Tucker.

And he never escaped him. Tucker felt that no matter where he went, Washington was there to yell at him. It didn't help that during his rare lone times, he only had his thoughts with him, mulling over all that Wash had forced him to do that day. Even now, he was still thinking about it.

Well not anymore. Tucker wasn't one to dwell on things. Okay, that was a downright lie. He most certainly pondered things long after they were done. But not anymore. Tonight, Tucker was going to get a full night's rest. He was going to curl up in his bunk and ignore his pompous new leader at all costs. This was _his_ time, and he wanted not even to think about the Freelancer-turned-Blue.

The problem with that line or thought was that after what he'd done that day, there was nothing really to think _about_. Sure, there were some things that he might go over. But he could only wonder to himself about Junior's current status so many times before there was nothing left to pick apart. He knew his son was out of high school, and that he'd joined up with his own people. That was it. How many times could he really question the rest before it, frankly, got old?

He wanted air. Not that his suit didn't provide, but Tucker couldn't stand wearing the damn thing anymore. Quietly, he stripped himself down to the under-armor: a formfitting black outfit, similar to a wetsuit. Taking a deep breath, he curled up on his stiff bunk and closed his eyes. It felt good not to have to breathe filtered air for once.

Curled up with his eyes closed, Tucker began thinking about his go-to topic, a subject that would never get old. Girls. Oh how Tucker wished there were more girls in the army. There was Sister, but they'd left her behind at Blood Gulch all those years ago. Otherwise, there were no females in the group. Well, there was one if you counted Donut, but Tucker _definitely_ didn't count Donut.

Truth of it was, Tucker didn't want there to be women present for the diversity. In fact, instead of having women come here, he wished he could go to them. Just fucking escape this war. Not for the first time since joining the military, he wanted to just up and quit.

He missed the feminine touch. He wanted to see a woman, to brush her hair out of her face and kiss her. To have her 'ooh' and 'aah' over his battle scars. His breath ragged as he thought of all the different ways he wanted to have her.

He wasn't sure when his fantasies slipped into dreams. one second he was aware of lying in his bunk, and the next he was really there, surrounded by at least 4 women, not one of them clothed.

"Alright Vanessa," he said, pointing at one in particular. "You're next."

Clad in nothing but a bra in panties, the dark-eyes woman stepped forward. Her legs were long and slender, her skin glowing bronze in the low lights. Her long hair was pulled back over her head, revealing her angular face and sharp features. Without so much as a word, her hands ran softly down his bare chest. He stared into her warm, golden eyes and watched as they morphed, slowly changing. Now they were steely gray, cold, but with flecks of that golden brown still remaining. There were gold rings around the irises. Pale skin with dark freckles touched him ever so slightly, cold hands trailing over his numerous battle scars. His breath came ragged as his partner leaned in, lips meeting his. He felt a pulse of excitement in his lower abdomen as the other trailed his pallid lips down…down…down…

He exhaled in pleasure, closing his eyes against the sensations. "Oh," he moaned, "Washington…"

Emotion boiled over, blanching all his senses until he was overloaded with it. It was too much for dream Tucker. He snapped awake, sitting upright in bed and looking around in confusion. He was in his bunk, in his quarters. His sheets were plastered to his sweat soaked body. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. For a few long minutes, he felt terribly out of breath.

"Tucker," said a voice way too close for comfort. He jumped, his arms flailing as he tumbled straight out of his bed onto the floor. Tucker usually slept without clothes on, so it was a good thing his sheets stuck to him as he fell. Otherwise, he would have shown his naked body to his unexpected guest.

"Caboose!" he exclaimed once he'd gotten himself together. "What are you doing in my room?"

His regulation blue clad teammate looked down at him. "I heard you talking," he admitted, not a hint of shyness. "So I thought I'd come see who you were talking to."

A sense of nervousness filled Tucker. "I was talking?"

Caboose was entirely unabashed. "In your sleep."

"I talk in my sleep?"

"You were yelling." Caboose looked at him. "Why were you yelling at Washington in your sleep?"

"I what?" Tucker asked, standing bolt upright an instantly regretting it as his sheets slipped down to reveal his nakedness. Caboose stared at him for a minute.

"Yeah I'm just going to go tell Washington you need him," Caboose said, spinning on his heel.

"No wait!" Tucker called desperately whilst he wrapped himself back up in his sheets. "I don't need him."

Caboose looked confused, which wasn't a feat considering he usually did. "Then why were you yelling for him?"

Tucker tied his sheets off toga style around his body. "Okay first off, I wasn't yelling for him. You must have misheard me. Second off, I had a nightmare was all."

Caboose stared at him. "You had a dream about Washington?"

"A nightmare," Tucker corrected self-consciously. "And it wasn't about Washington."

"Didn't sound like a nightmare," Caboose wondered aloud. "You dream about Washington." Suddenly the moronic soldier gasped. "Oh my gosh, was I there?"

"No!" Tucker yelled in a rush of panic. He was glad for his dark skin, as his face flushed at the memory of his dream. "I didn't dream of Washington, and I _definitely_ didn't dream of you."

Silence once again filled the space between them. "What time is it?" Tucker asked at last.

"It is 7 o'clock a. m. in the morning," Caboose answered right away.

"Great," he groaned. "I'm already late. Caboose, can you tell Wash that I'm on my way?"

"Okay!" Caboose said, sounding brighter under the armor. "I can tell him you were dreaming about him!"

"No, Caboose no, don't do that!" Tucker called, but it was too late. Caboose had already left. "Dammit!" he cursed in frustration, kicking the side of his bed. That didn't really help him at all though. Just left him with an aching foot.

He sat on the edge of his bed, nursing his hurt appendage, but mostly thinking. A shudder of disgust went through him at the thought of his dream. What on earth had _happened_? How could he go from dreaming a fantastic dream of wonderful girls to doing… _that_ with…? He didn't even want to think of it.

Tucker was _not_ gay. So why was he dreaming about doing sexual things with another guy? Based on the stains in his sheets, he'd enjoyed it too. His face boiled hot with embarrassment and shame.

God damn Washington! Tucker couldn't even have a fucking dream without being interrupted by the pompous Freelancer.

Speaking of the Devil… "Tucker!" Washington's voice called from right outside the door. "What are you doing? Hurry up!"

Tucker jumped to his feet, wanting to hide from his superior. There was no need, however. Washington didn't enter.

"Coming!" Tucker called back, putting all of his frustration into the one word. Damn that stupid Washington! Damn him straight to the pit!


	2. Daydream

**Daydream**

Tucker, for the first time since Was had taken over Blue team, actually pushed himself in training. The ex-Freelancer was so tough that only real soldiers could pass his physical fitness workouts. And being that Tucker was a real manly man, he knew that passing one of Wash's workouts meant that he really was the best on Blue team.

That wasn't the only reason though, and if Tucker were honest with himself, he would probably admit that the chance sheer exhaustion would keep him from dreaming about Washington again was what really pushed him forward again and again (even though his body was long ready to collapse). Whatever the reason, he had spent the day pushing himself through yet another set of lunges, another twenty pushups, one more go at the obstacle course. Anything to wear him thin and take his mind off of…less pleasant subjects.

"Very good, Tucker!" Wash said from behind, clapping him on the shoulder. The aqua (teal?) warrior would have jumped if he'd had the energy. "It's good to see you working hard for a change."

"Thanks," he muttered, quite unable to look the other in the face. Tucker was relieved they were in full gear, as it meant the other's eyes were hidden. He wasn't sure he would be able to handle looking the other in the eye right now, not embarrassed as he was.

When Tucker had first seen Wash's eyes, he'd been shocked at how downright beautiful they were. If they were in a woman's face, he would have complimented them. Instead they were masked by Wash's pale, freckled skin and round cheekbones. So Tucker had chosen to ignore his initial thought and move on. Or, he'd assumed he'd moved on.

He could still picture them though. Cold, granite gray, golden rings around the irises, and flecked with bronze. They rather matched Wash's pale complexion, and even his cold personality. Tucker had always been a fan of people's eyes. They were the first thing he noticed in all attractive women, and he couldn't deny himself a girl with stunning eyes.

He'd never realized before how much time he'd taken to notice Washington's.

_God dammit!_ he cursed silently, punching the ground. He'd have to do at least 80 more pushups to feel manly again.

"Why don't you go and rest," Washington suggested.

Tucker looked up, surprised by the softness in Wash's usually stoic voice. He was glad that he had his face mask on, because it meant he could turn in Wash's direction without really looking at him, but Wash (who couldn't see where exactly Tucker was looking, after all), would be none the wiser. "What?"

"Take a rest," the superior suggested again. "I think you've earned it."

Tucker stood upright, turning his full body to face the other. "You want me to take a rest?" he asked blankly. He couldn't see for sure, but he imagined that Wash was looking a little sheepish under all that armor.

"You've been working real hard. Don't you want to relax?"

Tucker hesitated. "Who are you and what have you done with Wash?" he asked at last.

Wash chuckled. Had he actually _laughed_? "No, it's really me. I just figured…I mean you worked hard today. You'll need it if you want to work hard tomorrow."

"There you are," Tucker said, almost relieved. "I was worried you'd lost your mind for a second."

Washington looked at him for a second, during which Tucker realized he was staring at his superior. Awkwardly, he shifted his gaze down at the same time that Wash spoke. "Well I thought you might not have gotten much sleep last night, what with the nightmares and all."

Tucker felt as if his insides exploded with gross slimy things. No, that wasn't quite right. He'd actually carried (and gave birth to) a gross slimy thing inside his gut once. That had definitely felt much better than this sickening feeling coursing through him. "Wait what?" His voice was taut.

Wash sighed. "Caboose told me you were having nightmares."

"Is that all he told you?" Tucker asked desperately, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

Wash hesitated in a very unlike himself manor. "He did mention you were talking in your sleep," the Blue officer admitted at last. Tucker could hear the embarrassment in his commander's voice, but it was nothing to what he now felt. If Caboose had told Washington what Tucker had said, then the ex-Freelancer knew exactly what Tucker had dreamed about.

They were both quiet for what felt like forever. Tucker was barely containing his panic. Only years of being on the battlefield had given him the self-control needed to not do anything stupid, like talk.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Wash asked after some time.

"No," Tucker answered a little too quickly.

"We all have those dreams," Washington said quietly. "Where we're thrown back into our darkest situations. Every soldier who's ever fought on a battlefield knows what it's like. Some more than others. I…actually have some experience with that too." It sounded as though that last part had cost Wash some effort to admit, but Tucker wasn't paying attention. Whatever Caboose had told him, it hadn't been enough to convey what was _really_ going on in Tucker's dream. That meant Wash didn't know, and the relief from that alone was enough to make him shake in his armor.

"Really, I'm fine," Tucker said, almost laughing. He tried not to sound to mocking.

Wash sighed again, his voice dour, as though he were disappointed. "Well, I'm always here if you need to talk." Tucker quietly reveled in how that really _wasn't_ happening. "Get some rest, Private. I'll be around if you need me."

Tucker watched him go. Wash didn't walk like the rest of them. Years of special operations had taught him to slink forward rather than walk. He was always on his toes, quiet even in their heavy metal armor. His hips took the weight, displacing them ever so slightly. The motion was fluid and completely silent. It was something Tucker rather admired of his superior.

Realizing that he was staring again, Tucker turned away, ashamed of his feelings and yet also feeling not quite as disgusted as before.

"Fucking idiot," he muttered to himself before turning away.


	3. Lucid

**Lucid**

Tucker was aware of dreaming this time. He was in a dank building held up by hundreds of separate supports. Somehow, there was lighting there, but only enough to see a couple hundred feet around him at best. Underfoot was straw, and the low ceiling scraped his dreads.

He didn't hear the soft footsteps, but rather sensed them. He turned to face the source of the reverberations, only to find himself looking into those steel eyes he'd thought of against his will all day.

"Wash," he asked. "What are you doing here?"

Wash looked him up and down before taking a step toward him. "You want me here Tucker."

Tucker took a step backwards, but Wash took a stride to match. "I'm not gay," he affirmed shakily.

His leader shook his head, rolling his eyes and _tsk_ ing simultaneously. "It's not about gay or straight, Tucker. You want me. Admit it."

By now, Washington had backed him into a corner, literally and figuratively. Tucker wordlessly shook his head while Wash took another step. His hand came up to touch Tucker's chest, feeling his pounding heart underneath. Wash was at least a head shorter than him, but Tucker felt so small under his cool gaze.

And Tucker couldn't resist it anymore. He _wanted_ this. "Oh Wash," he purred, falling into that touch again. He took a step forward, pulling the solid man into him. Their lips met.

"Tucker!" a voice called from far away. Tucker rolled over in his bunk, waving away the hands that shook him.

"Five more minutes," he pleaded sleepily.

There was silence for a short period, and then, "Tucker it's me."

"Ugh," he groaned. "What?" He rolled over, opening his eyes and finding himself face to face with none other than Washington himself. Surprise pulled Tucker away from his leader and against the wall on the end of his bunk. Somehow, finding himself so close to the reluctant object of his affection so soon after his dream made his heart pound more. Oh _no_! What if he talked in his sleep again? "Washington!" he spat angrily. "What the fuck, _bro_!"

Even in his panic, he managed to look his leader up and down in order to better appreciate the sight. For once, Wash _wasn't_ in full body armor. He was wearing a loose gray shirt with yellow stripes on the sleeve, much similar to his Freelancer outfit. His pants were mesh, blue with the same gold stripe down the sides. It was like a mixture of his Freelancer and his Blue days.

It was still dark, which either meant Wash was here to wake him up on time (way to early for Tucker), or it was still sleep time. Tucker was inclined towards the latter, considering Wash wasn't in full body armor, or wasn't yelling himself hoarse at Tucker's lazy attitude.

So what _was_ he doing here?

Tucker kept his back pressed against the wall behind his bed, but narrowed his eyes to get a better look at his superior. Wash really was beautiful, in his own way. He was super pale, like it was his superpower or something. Probably because the workaholic fuck never took his damn armor off. Seriously, he was as white as Tucker was black. In contrast to his paleness, his freckles were dark pinpricks on a worn face. Still, his most stunning features were definitely his eyes. Tucker had never seen eyes that captivating before.

 _Stupid fucktard_ , he thought to himself. _Stop being homo for a second, would you?_

Looking closely, Wash did not look entirely healthy. He didn't look sick or anything but rather…hunted? The bags under his eyes looked like patches of stained make-up. The lines on his face were rather pronounced (Tucker hadn't gotten the impression that Wash was that old.) There was a scar running down his one cheek that looked almost taut, as if the muscles there had strained far too long. Probably from frowning the way Wash did when he concentrated too much.

Perhaps a moon's worth of sleep and several bottles of alcohol would be suiting for Wash's, eh, condition.

"Sorry for the scare," Wash said, sitting (uninvited) on the end of Tucker's bunk.

Tucker snorted. "You don't scare me."

Wash made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. He looked exhausted. "You sounded scared to me. Caboose was worried you were having another nightmare."

Immediately his dread returned. "I was talking again, wasn't I?"

Wash nodded confirmation. "Yup." The end of that one word popped as he pressed his lips together and pushed the air out.

Not sure he wanted to know the answer, but knowing he had to ask anyway, Tucker murmured, "What was I saying?"

The smirk on Washington's face said all Tucker needed to know. "Geez Tucker, if I had known I was the star of your nightmares, I would have toned down the exercises."

"Wash," he said quietly, feeling the need to explain. He could hardly hear his voice over the pounding of his own heart. "It's not what you think."

Wash raised one eyebrow. "I don't know Tucker. You sounded pretty upset to me."

Tucker shook his head, his main of hair slapping against the crown of his head. "No I mean, it's just a dream, that's all. You know I can't control them."

One of those thick gray soldiers raised in a shrug. "It's not your fault, Tucker. We all have bad dreams."

"Right," Tucker muttered, looking at his kneecaps. "Fucking nightmare."

Wash tilted his head, looking at Tucker without blinking. "You know, you can always talk to me if you need to. I'm here for you."

He snorted derisively. "Yeah Wash, that is not gonna happen."

They sat in tense silence for a long while again. While Tucker was greatly appreciative that Washington didn't push the subject, he was beyond embarrassed that he'd 'out'ed himself directly to the man _in his sleep_. Like couldn't Wash just leave him be for one night? Because call it what they want, both men knew exactly what Tucker had been dreaming about.

"I hope Caboose didn't wake you," Tucker said slowly, just to ease the tension.

"What?" his superior said, shaking himself from his own thoughts. "Oh, no. I already happened to be awake, so it wasn't a big deal."

Tucker looked at him again, concern for his commanding officer overlaying his strict humiliation. "You should get some sleep, dude. You look like you could use it."

Wash laughed without humor. "I probably could," he admitted. "But I, I almost never sleep anymore."

"Why?" Tucker asked him, then added sarcastically. "Also having bad dreams?"

"Yes, I am, actually," Wash answered seriously. "It's been getting harder and harder to fall asleep lately."

"Oh." Tucker frowned, leaning out of his corner minutely. He was deadly curious to know what it was that kept Wash up at night. Was it a similar situation to what Tucker was currently enduring?

"Did I ever tell you I have a sister?" Wash asked suddenly, staring straight ahead without seeing.

Tucker shook his head. "No, you never told me that."

Wash smiled. "Yeah, she was a total badass. Like, she could really fuck you up if she wanted to. But that's Kansas for you."

Against his will, Tucker's interest was piqued. "Wait, she was a Freelancer?"

"Oh yeah," Wash said as if it was the most obvious thing. "Did I just say what a badass she was? She was involved from the very beginning. I think she was even recruited before me. She was drafted into some top secret unit. I didn't even know she was in the program until later on."

Tucker's brow furrowed. "Whatever happened to her?" he wondered aloud.

"No idea," Wash said. "From what I've been able to find out, she vanished into thin air after my…incident, with Epsilon. When they were removing the A.I. from the other agents. To this day, I have no idea why she left, where she is, or if she's still alive."

This revelation was quite personal. Tucker stared at his commander, curiosity filling him. Why was Washington telling him this? "Well, why don't you go looking for her?"

Wash smirked. "I'd never find her."

"Why?" a thought suddenly pierced him. "Do you think she's dead?"

"No," Wash said easily. "I think she doesn't want to be found. And Kansas _always_ gets what she wants."

"Sounds spoiled," Tucker chuckled.

"Oh she was." Wash's pale face formed a pseudo smile that Tucker had never really seen before. It was kinda nice, actually. "From a young age she learned how to manipulate people into giving her everything. Not that we had much to give…" he trailed off, seemingly lost in memories.

Tucker felt real sympathy for the man. After all, he too had family he was worried about. Not that Junior couldn't care for himself, but still. "Sounds like you really cared about her. I'm sorry dude."

Wash looked at him, his face forming one of surprise. "It's all right. I'm sure she's fine. I just…" he tapered away again, staring blankly ahead for no more than one second. "I'll let you go back to sleep," he said abruptly, standing up. "You're going to need it for tomorrow." Wash through him one last smirk before leaving.

Tucker watched him go. That had been quite a conversation. He splayed out across his bunk, processing it. Why had Washington told him all of that stuff about his sister? What point had he been trying to make?

He wondered what Kansas looked like. Was she as pale as Washington? Did she have those same eyes? He suddenly wanted to meet her face to face, to see her and maybe get to know her. He formed a mental picture of her in his brain: short, pale with freckles, blonde hair and those gorgeous eyes. Like Wash, but a girl. Somehow, it didn't feel right. He couldn't find any attraction to the image. Maybe knowing she was MIA, or that she had family desperately missing her, ruined the whole sexual part of it. (Yet that didn't stop him from feeling that way about Washington).

Groaning to himself, he banged his head against his bunk-frame, pulling his pillow down over his eyes. Whatever the fuck was wrong with him needed to be done with immediately. Maybe he could follow Wash's plan and never sleep. That'd certainly stop the dreams.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he was already drifting.


	4. Sleepwalk

**Sleepwalk**

_Fuck!_ Tucker screamed internally, pointing his weapon at the nearest cone and firing a shot at the nearest cone. It missed. What a waste of a fucking bullet.

Despite all his hard work yesterday, Tucker couldn't keep up with Washington's exercises. All day he'd struggled through them, and all day his aching muscles had not responded to his commands. Every movement had taken twice the usual amount of effort, and he didn't know _why_. All he knew was that Wash was going to yell at him for sure.

He leaped over the minefield, missing his target distance by only just a small amount. Maybe the wind from his landing stirred against the nearest mine, he didn't know. All he knew was that it very suddenly blew up not a foot away from him. The blast send him flying, landing spread eagle, face down, just outside the exit of the runway.

"Tucker!" Wash called, sounding from far away. The aqua-armored soldier tried to roll away from his superior, but found he didn't have the energy.

"Wash," he pleaded with only a hint of sarcasm. "Give me a minute before you yell at me, okay?"

He lay there in silence, listening to the high pitched ringing in his ears. His entire body ached from the experience he'd just been forced to endure, and anger filled him. Why was Wash forcing him to do this training this hardcore? Was it because of what he'd heard last night? Was he upset with Tucker, and forcing him to work extra hard as a sort of punishment?

"Can I talk now?" Wash asked from beside him, sounding as irritated as Tucker imagined.

"Why?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet. "I already know what you're going to say." Tucker couldn't keep the despondence out of his voice. Wash was going to tell him what a disappointment he was to the Blue army. How he was a failure as a soldier.

"Tucker, you can do this," Wash said anyway. "I know you've had trouble sleeping lately, but that's no excuse to fall short in training."

Anger flared in him, making him turn and glare full out at his leader. "You would know, wouldn't you? Always roaming the halls at night instead of sleeping like a normal person."

Wash took a step back, his head bobbing in surprise. "What?"

Tucker couldn't stop himself from going on, even if he'd wanted to. "And why are you always pushing me around?" He did his best Washington impression. " 'More pushups Tucker!' 'Run more laps Tucker!' 'Do the obstacle course again Tucker!' 'You're a fucking disgrace to the army Tucker!'"

"I never said that last part," Wash murmured, sounding hurt. But Tucker didn't care. All he could think about was his anger. How could he ever have thought Washington was beautiful? Washington wasn't beautiful. He was an ugly demon-spawned hateful man.

"You're thinking it!" he accused, putting all the venom in his voice he could muster. "You think I'm the worst soldier you've ever seen. Of all time. That's why you're so nasty to me."

Wash tilted his head, confusion spelled in his posture. "Tucker, what has gotten into you? Where is all this coming from?"

He pointed at his leader, putting all his hatred in that one gesture. "It comes from _you_! You clearly hate me!"

"I don't hate you!" Wash exclaimed, astounded.

"Yes you _do_!" He stamped his foot for emphasis. "You think I'm nothing but a stupid simulation soldier whose entire career was a lie! You're so special because you did spec ops and worked on the same team as Tex and Carolina. You're such a badass and I'm nothing but a testing ground for you and your pals. I can't even shoot the fucking sniper rifle." A wave of depression fell over him, subduing his anger. What was he? He was nothing.

They stood without saying anything, Wash probably taking in the tirade he'd just endured and Tucker feeling hopeless.

"I don't think you're a stupid simulation trooper," Wash said at last, his voice calm, as if to be soothing. It only made Tucker feel worse. "I think you are a capable soldier. I just…I'm not used to doing nothing all day. Training is the only thing that keeps me sane."

"Why don't you do it, then?" Tucker asked. His voice cracked, making him wince. _Weakling._

"I do," he answered resolutely. "I'm just at a different level than you are."

Tucker's anger flared again. "So you _do_ think you're better than the rest of us!" he spat.

"I never said that!" Wash responded, not sounding angry. "I don't think I'm better than you Tucker! Everyone is at different levels. I've had years more practice than you. It's not a wonder I'm at a higher level."

His frustration bubbled. "I don't see Caboose out here doing all these dumb exercises!"

"He should be!" Wash snapped. "You both should be running right now!"

"Then why aren't you yelling at him?"

Wash answered waspishly, "Because I'm too busy out here yelling at you, since you decided to go all apeshit on me for no apparent reason!"

"Whatever," Tucker answered, and then added without thinking. "You want me."

They stood there, the tension changing from a fiery anger to a charged, electric sort of cold. Tucker's jaw dropped in horror. He tried to gauge Wash's reaction, but there was no way of seeing through the armor. He couldn't even tell if Wash was breathing.

It was a full two minutes of zero talking. There was the sound of the water rolling in the background, and a few birds sang hopeful tunes from far away. Even the bugs had started their symphony and still Wash did not speak.

The silence was beginning to kill Tucker. He was just beginning to wonder if he should say something to break it when Wash finally spoke. "Come with me, Private Tucker."


	5. One Good Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this as originally where it was supposed to end but people on ff.net really wanted to see more, so kept going. Hope y'all like it up to this point!

**One Good Dream**

_I'm doomed_ , Tucker thought as he followed Wash into the base. Not that he was worried Wash would hurt him. Despite his hardcore attitude, Wash was generally a good person. However this behavior was strange on Wash's part, and it put Tucker off quite a bit.

What on earth had made him speak like that? Tucker valued his life very much, so why would he taunt his leader? And to say something like _that_? "You want me." Wash didn't _want_ him, did he? What brought that on?

Wash lead him straight past the food storage, heading toward the barracks. Tucker's heart skipped a beat. What if Wash _did_ want him? He couldn't stop his brain from leaping to his dreams, and his first thought ended up being curiosity as to what kissing Wash would feel like. Then disgust filled him. Kissing another dude would feel wrong, no doubt. He shouldn't think about it.

He needn't have worried. Wash stalked right past the rooms and kept going, up the ramp towards the roof. Tucker was filled with curiosity and anticipation now. Where was Wash taking him? Why?

They padded quietly up the ramp onto the roof. The sun was just setting ahead of them, behind the mountains. It was glorious, to say the least. The arching rays of sunlight reached down from the tops of the cliffs, piercing through the clouds and forming an array of rainbows. Tucker could just see them if he squinted hard enough.

Wash paused, staring up at the light. Slowly, he reached up and removed his helmet with a hydraulic hiss. He wrapped his right arm around it, holding it at waist level and looking up the light with his own eyes. The light of the setting sun waved through his hair, lighting it up like a glo-ball. His skin reflected the orange light, making him actually look tan for once. His freckles looked like dark shadows against his skin. No matter all of it, Tucker couldn't stop himself being captivated by those eyes. The reflection of the sunlight in those beautiful irises was quite enticing.

"Wash, what are we doing?" he demanded, removing his own helmet as he spoke.

The leader cast him a sidelong smile before settling at the edge of the base, his legs dangling over the side. "Please, Tucker," Wash said, indicating the seat next to him. "Sit down. Watch the sun set with me."

Tucker snorted. "What, are we on a date or something?"

Wash chuckled, looking up at him with those eyes, now reflecting Tucker's derisive nature. "Well, clearly my strict training schedule has driven you insane. I figured you could use a night off."

He fell silent, allowing Tucker to mull over his words. The aqua soldier frowned, thinking hard. Watching the sun set with Washington was quite a step. It was a very bold move on Wash's part, and Tucker wasn't entirely sure where he was coming from. Was he genuinely concerned for Tucker's mental well-being, or was there something else going on there?

Still, what did he have to lose? One night less training and one more relaxing was definitely something Tucker could get behind. And even if he had to spend it watching the sun set with Wash, he couldn't deny himself one easy night. It didn't have to be anything more than just that.

"Fine," he muttered, sitting down beside his leader. "But I'm not gay."

"I know," Wash murmured in reply.

They sat together, watching the light slowly fade from the sky. Tucker was hyperaware of the man next to him. He mapped the other's position in his mind, the way he was leaning (similarly to Tucker) on his hands, how his legs were slightly apart in a way that most men sat comfortably. He acknowledged the tilt of the other's head and the crooked smile bestowed on his face.

 _Not gay_ , he thought to himself, focusing on the fading light. If he concentrated enough on the cliffside ahead of them, then he could almost forget exactly what Wash was doing in that moment.

"I don't think you're a stupid simulation trooper," Wash said quietly. Tucker did his best to ignore the other's physical presence, although took comfort in those words just the same. They sounded genuine, and Tucker liked that. "You could…you're a good soldier, Tucker," he continued. "You don't have to worry about what I think of you."

Tucker didn't answer, only grunted. He leaned back and felt his fingers brush Wash's own. Neither reacted, just let their fingers touch and watched the sun set. There was nothing more to be said, and yet Tucker felt a charged energy again between them. His heart beat, mildly painful in his chest. Again he was hyperaware of the man next to him. Wash was…Tucker didn't want to think it, but he couldn't help himself. Wash was nice, and maybe he liked sitting there watching the sun set, hands touching as the sun set.

It was nice.


	6. End of the Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's going on in Wash's head this entire time?

**End of the Train**

"Hurry up!" Washington yelled back, looking over his shoulder. Caboose and Tucker were both struggling to keep up with his set running pace. Caboose was not weak, however upper body strength and running were two very different forms of exercise. Tucker, however, was getting better. He was able to keep up proficiently with Washington despite his lack of practice.

Wash watched the aqua-clad soldier with appreciation. His hips swung back and forth in a _very_ interesting manor. At least Washington found it interesting. He liked watching Tucker run, even when he was wearing full body armor. Wash considered himself an art connoisseur. He could appreciate good work in anyone. And Tucker…well, Tucker was definitely sculpted.

"That's good," he called to the other warriors. "Keep it up!"

Caboose cheerfully raced past, his feet pounding in a way that probably would hurt his knees later. "Lighter steps," he chirped at his soldier as he raced by.

"Okay!" Caboose called, but continued in much the same way.

Wash turned to watch Tucker run past, watching his backside swing back and forth with his hips.

Tucker stopped. "What are you doing?" he demanded breathlessly.

"Just checking your form," Wash said in false innocence.

"Oh dude, are you checking me out?" Tucker asked, sounding minutely worried. Wash liked that sound.

"You need to have good form when running Tucker," he explained. "Otherwise you could end up hurting yourself permanently." Tucker stared at him. "So yes, I'm checking you out."

"Aw, come on dude." Tucker definitely sounded uncomfortable now. "Do you have to do that?"

Wash chuckled deviously. "At least I have an excuse," he answered. He leaned forward ever so slightly, just enough to register on Tucker's radar. "What's yours?"

He didn't need to see Tucker's face to see the embarrassment flush through him. "What are you talking about?" he stammered. Wash felt satisfaction at this reaction. He waited just long enough for Tucker to start squirming.

"Keep up, Tucker!" he called, taking off suddenly. "Caboose is supposed to be at the end of the train, not the beginning!"

They continued running, Wash thinking back to the night not long ago when he'd woken Tucker up in the middle of the night. Walking around the dark corridors, especially in cooler weather, was particularly soothing to Washington. It distracted him from all the thoughts plaguing his brain at night. Everything from wondering about the remaining members of his Freelancer unit, to thinking about Kansas crossed his mind.

Kansas. His sister. He remembered when he first met her. His father had come to visit him one year bringing a new woman and Wash's new little sister with him. Wash had grown up on a farm outside Spokane with only his mother for company. So seeing the little baby had been a bit of a shock for him. Not that he hadn't met his father or his new wife. But somehow, two-year-old Wash had never thought of Father having any other kids. Two-year olds didn't really think that far ahead.

His mother had been very strained that entire trip. She'd gotten mad whenever the baby so much as cried. Wash had grown to hate the sound of crying babies in only 2 weeks.

After that, Father and his new wife had returned to Topeka with Kansas in tow. Wash had not seen much of her after that, although on his weekly phone calls with Father, he could sometimes hear her in the background.

They reached the end of the circuit, coming back to base. Caboose stood there, panting a little and looking, as always, exceptionally happy. Tucker brought up the rear, wheezing hard and clutching as a side-stitch. Wash gave a slight shudder inside his armor. _I'll give you something to be breathless about…_

"Alright men, that's enough exercise for today," he said in a commanding voice. "You all can do whatever you want. I'm going to go shower." He smirked, even though Tucker couldn't see it. The other glanced up at him as he spoke. Wash imagined that his eyes popped a little. Wash walked forward, choosing his path so that he bumped into his subordinate as he went. "Whoops," he murmured. "Sorry." He laughed a little on the inside, hoping he left good enough imagery for Tucker.

Well, he would certainly find out. Wash liked to walk the halls at night and Tucker's door had recently become a hotspot.


	7. Sound of Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter v_v y'all let me know okay?

**Sound of Music**

Wash padded quietly down the hallway, letting his mind wander. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep more than anything. He hadn't really slept at all in the last week. It was getting quite ridiculous.

In Caboose's room, he could hear the soldier finally snoring peacefully. Sometimes Caboose stayed up late. He talked to himself or to his imaginary friends. The first time he'd heard it, Wash had been concerned for the blue warrior. However, he had since learned that this was Caboose's way of coping with being far away from home for a long period of time.

Wash walked onwards, stopping outside Tucker's door. Silence from within. The aqua warrior was probably already asleep. He sat down outside the door, listening. Sometimes, Tucker talked in his sleep, revealing deeper parts to his psyche that he would never admit to during the day.

Tucker had talked about the sniper rifle several times, mentioned his son at least twice, and often said completely random phrases that left Wash wondering what on earth was going on inside his head. Most of this stuff was not complicated. It was the times that Tucker _really_ talked that piqued his interest.

It had not occurred to him how sexual Tucker was until he'd heard him talking about it in sleep. At least once every night during Wash's rounds, he'd hear Tucker going at it, sometimes awake, sometimes in his sleep. Wash couldn't always tell, and out of courtesy to his fellow soldier and friend, usually walked away to give him appropriate privacy.

Until he'd heard his own name.

At first he'd been confused, thought that maybe Tucker was actually awake after all. Then he'd heard him say it again, only with that breathy quality he gets when he's rather enjoying the experience. Wash had been downright shocked. In that moment, he'd felt a little violated, as if he'd walked right into Tucker's room and caught him with his dick in hand. It had taken him a few minutes to realize that Tucker was still sleeping.

Somehow, that had made Wash feel better about the whole thing. After all, Tucker didn't _know_ he talked in his sleep, and 90% of dreams were unconscious. The man probably didn't even know what was going on.

Still, Wash had fucked right out of there.

For a few nights, he'd avoided passing Tucker's door, in case it happened again. Eventually though, curiosity had won over embarrassment. Besides, there were only so many places Wash could go when he walked around at night. The base wasn't really that big.

He'd stepped lightly, walking past without making a sign. He paused, listening. No sounds. Tucker didn't so much as peep. Confidence restored, Wash continued his nightly rounds as normal. He didn't again hear his name. Tucker wasn't acting different during training, so Wash figured that whatever had happened, it was done now.

And then Caboose had told him Tucker had been yelling at him in sleep.

Wash had found this most interesting. Tucker wasn't breathing his name, wasn't moaning it…he was _yelling_ it. He doubted that his soldier wouldn't remember _that_ in the morning, especially if Caboose had heard it.

That was also when Wash realized he wasn't disturbed anymore. The thought of what his name would sound like coming loudly out of Tucker…the wave of arousal that rolled over him was so strong, he almost doubled over. He _needed_ to hear it for himself.

And so it was he found himself repeatedly outside Tucker's door.

The aqua soldier himself finally seemed to have figured out his sexual dreams towards his superior. There were minute changes that Wash noticed, the way his friend avoided him (he doubted Tucker knew he was aware of such changes. After all, who could see through a visor? Wash was trained to notice details though, so of course he knew). Tucker also seemed to be more anxious around him. He'd pushed himself harder than ever in training (impressive). And whether Tucker realized it or not, there was a charge between them now.

Wash knew himself better than anyone. He very rarely became emotionally attached to people, preferring to live his life by himself to the best of his ability. Sometimes, though, he would find himself obsessed with someone. It didn't usually matter who. He wasn't obsessed with their personality. He didn't often pursue these thoughts if he could help it. Sometimes it couldn't be helped.

Wash was kind of…aggressive, sexually. Nothing turned him on more than the chase. Once he'd decided (consciously or not) to pursue, he didn't quit. What better opportunity was there to get his own soldier? After all, they were stuck in this shithole together, had literally nothing to do, and to be honest, it had been years since Wash had had this kind of fun. It went against protocol, but that only made it more enticing. Breaking the rules was fun.

It might take some coaxing, but one way or another he _would_ have Tucker, and the aqua soldier didn't even know it.

Several days had gone by before Wash had heard it himself. He stopped outside Tucker's door. It was one of those nights where he felt that irritating urge to claw his own skin off. Those were more rare as time went on since his Freelancer days, but still poignant nonetheless. He could still feel Epsilon's mind, intertwined with his as it unraveled. It was like being tied to someone as they were stabbed to death. In those moments, he wanted to be someone else. Anyone else.

In order to help the sensation of stuffiness, he'd stripped of his armor and wandered around outside for a long while. He tried desperately not to think about what he'd endured. So many times had he his life just gone wrong? So many things he wished he could go back and change. And yet…he found himself here, with a new crew. A useless one but a crew nonetheless. And friends. That was important to him.

The thought of his fellow Blues here at Base got him thinking again about Tucker. Ah, the aqua/teal, whatever color soldier who currently had his interests. What a perfect distraction to his little dilemma. He wanted to look at him, to see him. He wanted to touch the soldier. Mostly he wanted to see him squirm. The thought of the sounds…

Oh right, he still hadn't heard him say his name since that first night. Years of living the way he had had taught him memory didn't do justice to the thing itself. No, he was going to have to hear the sound again.

So he padded, quietly, back into the base. He stopped outside the others' door, hesitating. Then he heard his name.

It wasn't at all what he wanted. In fact, Wash had legitimately though he'd been called in by an alert and responsive Tucker. But alas, he pushed the door open and found the other curled up in a tight ball in the bunk. He blinked in confusion. Why would Tucker call him here if he was just going to lay in bed? Had he finally owned up to-

No, Tucker was talking about him in sleep. Damn, what a disappointment. It sounded so entirely normal, like a conversation.

"Oh _Washington_ ," Tucker moaned sleepily, smacking his lips and wiggling a little in his sheets.

 _Whooaa._ A pulse of pure excitement coursed through him. It was then that he consciously decided to make this happen. There was no getting around it anymore. He _wanted_ Tucker. It had been so long since he'd had sexual contact that the wave of arousal that the sound of his own name had was breathtaking.

There was only one thing left to do: alerting Tucker to his intentions. There was one surefire way to do that. He woke the aqua soldier up. His soldier was now forced to recognize his desire for Washington…and yet he still resisted it. That only turned Washington on _more._

So here they were. Tucker fighting a losing battle and Washington obsessing over one of the men in his unit.

Obsession was no longer a word to apply to it. After today…Wash knew it was only a matter of time. He preferred to think there was a complete and total lack of resistance on his part. In fact, he was pushing it forward if he could. Didn't want to force it, but he knew progress would grind to a halt if he didn't because Tucker surely wasn't going to make any moves.

He leaned against the soldier's door, listening. No unusual noises emanated from within. Wash pursed his lips in disappointment. He liked it when Tucker talked in his sleep.

Suddenly a noise _did_ sound from within. He jumped forward, dropping into a defensive position instinctively. The sound came again, louder than before. It took a second for Wash to realize what it was. When he did, he dove, wrenching Tucker's door open. Inside, the warrior was screaming.


	8. Wake Me Up

**Wake Me Up**

Washington scrambled across the room towards where the dark man was writhing under his sheets. His meaty hands clasped over the warriors shoulders and he shook rather violently.

"Tucker!" he cried. "It's okay. Wake up!"

It should not have come as a surprise to him, but it did, when Tucker's arm smacked him hard across the forehead, sending him sprawling backwards. The man was surprisingly strong.

Wash sat up and tried again, reaching out to nudge him, more gently this time. "Tucker, it's okay," he soothed. "You're okay. It's just me."

He watched as the alarm left Tucker's dark eyes only to be replaced with confusion. "What?" he demanded sharply. "Where am I? What's going on?"

"Tucker, you're okay," Washington cooed again. "It's me, Wash."

Tucker stared at him, still not entirely processing. "What?" he asked again.

"You're fine," Wash informed him. "You just had a nightmare."

He watched Tucker's eyes visibly darken. "Oh."

They sat in silence for a minute, Wash giving time for Tucker's surely pounding heart to relax while he processed what was going on. He could see the confusion melt slowly away, leaving nothing but a blank, still slightly panicked stare. Whatever Tucker had been dreaming, it was bad. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked softly.

"No!" Tucker snapped, but Wash was not a stupid man. So he sat back, crossed his arms, and waited. He was exceptionally patient when it came to the safety and well-being of his men.

They sat for almost three whole minutes in silence before Tucker finally opened up a little. "I- It was…Junior."

Wash froze, looking at him. Junior was Tucker's 7 ft. tall Elite Alien son. He didn't know _much_ about him. He knew that Junior, despite his immense size, was born from a nugget sized parasitic embryo implanted unwillingly into Tucker by another Elite. However the little tyke came to be, Tucker really did seem to be fond of him, having spent time with him in the Sangheili Embassy before traveling away for his job. He knew that Junior was still there, with his people.

But as far as information on Tucker's alien son went, that was his limits. He felt slightly guilty. That was a pathetic amount of knowledge on the boy, considering he was the son of one in his unit. It was his job as unit leader to know these things. His precious little knowledge on the alien child showed a serious derelict of duty on his part.

However Washington was smart, and pieced things together easily. He wasn't dreaming that Junior failed 4th grade here. Only one thing would have Tucker screaming so loud. Tucker had watched his son in a war setting.

"It wasn't real, Tucker," he said comfortingly. "It was just a bad dream."

"No!" Tucker wailed. "It wasn't."

Wash stiffened. This fear of Tucker's was very very real. The light of panic, still I his eyes…that was no regular nightmare. Things like this weren't up to imagination. Somehow, somewhere, Junior was a participant in this war as more than just an ambassador.

"I…" Wash paused, not entirely how to respond. "I didn't know Junior was involved."

Tucker groaned. "He was born in Blood Gulch," he admitted. Wash's eyes widened. "He was a part of the prophecy," he said quietly. "Only he or I could wield the Great Weapon, cause I had claimed it and he's my son."

Wash didn't interrupt. There was so much he didn't know, but this wasn't about that. Tucker wasn't necessarily talking to _him_. Wash just happened to be there listening.

"Omega and Wyoming had a plan. The sword was part of the prophecy. Only a true warrior could wield it. They wanted to use Junior to enslave his own people with it. Then Omega could infect him and make him do shit. Bad shit to his own people." Tucker was staring glassy-eyed now, the fear returning to his voice. "Tex took him, and the sword, onto a ship." Wash understood then. He'd seen that ship. "She didn't know that Sarge had put a bomb on the ship."

He didn't need to continue. Washington knew exactly what Tucker would have seen. Oh God, Tucker had watched it happen. He had seen the ship blow up with his own son on board. He'd as good as seen his child die.

"Tucker…" Wash tried, but stopped. He was completely out of words. He had no idea what to say.

Tucker leaned back, smacking his head against the metal frame of his bunk. "I mean he made it, of course. Even brought my sword back to me." He snorted derisively, a chuckle without humor. "He thought _that's_ what I cared about."

Wash frowned. This was serious. Tucker was a jokester, liked to play pranks on Caboose, often tried to mess with Washington even, but in this moment right now, Tucker actually needed him. He had never seen the aqua-clad soldier look so upset.

"Tucker, I'm sorry," he murmured quietly. He reached out hand and patted his knee. Tucker stared at the spot for a long second. "I'm sorry that happened. I'm sorry you saw it." The man didn't answer, only gripped his sheets tighter and stared again at the spot where Wash's hand still lingered over his knee. Wash pulled away slowly. "But hey, at least he _survived_. Grew up to be one hella good ambassador for his people, as I hear it." He smiled falteringly at the other warrior, who took one last, long glance at his kneecap before looking up into Wash's face.

"Yeah, you're right," he admitted grudgingly. "Best not to dwell on it." He frowned, leaning back into the corner of his bunk, looking more relaxed. "Well what are you here for, anyway?"

Wash's brow knitted in confusion. "I heard you screaming," he said, mildly accusatory. "Thought you were being attacked at first."

Tucker snorted, shaking his head and actually laughing a little bit. "Come on now, Wash, that's not entirely true. You weren't just hanging around."

The ex-Freelancer tried to hide his smile, but couldn't quite stop the blush from creeping into his pallid cheeks. "I couldn't sleep," he explained breezily, waving his hand good naturedly. "I like to wander the halls at night."

"Do you always find yourself at my door?" Tucker asked. The question was lighthearted, if slightly accusatory, but his face was entirely unreadable, making Wash shiver a little in his sweats.

"Only when you get my attention." He smirked at the aqua boy and did something he never ever did. He winked.

Tucker gaped at him as if he'd just said something very sarcastic. His eyes were set in a skeptical look, his jaw dropped a little, arms limp in his lap. After a few seconds of looking at Wash as though he'd lost his mind Tucker shook his head, took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "God dammit Wash."

"Look," Wash began uncertainly. "I'm sorry." He paused. "You were being really loud though."

Tucker sighed deeply again. "Yeah, I guess I was, huh?" He looked up at his superior with narrowed eyes. "Okay big guy, it's your turn."

Wash was entirely bemused by this. "To what?"

Tucker smiled cheekily at him. "Oh come on, I told you. It's your turn to tell me." But Wash still did not understand. He shook his head, perplexed. Tucker snorted. "Come on Wash. Why are you awake? What's keeping you up this time?"

Understanding clicked in Washington's brain. "Oh."

Tucker shifted ever so slightly on the bedsheet. Wash sighed and leaned against the back wall, staring at the ceiling and wishing he didn't have to continue this conversation. "Is it your sister again?" Tucker prompted, surprisingly soft.

Wash only wished. "Not tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tucker's outlined. He could feel the eyes of the other man upon him. It was Tucker's turn to wait patiently while Washington came up with the right words. "It was…" he trailed off, feeling the sinking despair creep through him. Suddenly he changed direction. "Do you think I'm a good person?"

This caught Tucker completely off guard. "Sure I do!" he answered, eyes flickering. "You're strong, and smart. I can't even keep up half the- "

"No," Wash cut him off abruptly. "Do you think I'm a good _person_?"

Tucker leaned forward, looking at his superior. Those beautiful, black cesspools were looking at Wash in a new light, as if he were really taking him in for the first time. He opened his mouth, as if to answer, but stopped. Finally, he spoke, his voice so full but so soft. "Yeah, I really do."

He frowned, watching Wash bite his lip. The superior officer's eyes locked onto his hands. "You don't?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"Wash, you're a wonderful person." He winced under his messy blonde hair. "I mean, you're smart, and beautiful, and funny, and you put others before yourself, and you're always looking out for us…" Tucker trailed off, his hand slapping against his mouth as he realized what he was doing.

Wash stared at him with a cocked eyebrow, playful smile teasing his pale lips (how does someone have such pale lips?)

He removed his hand long enough to say, "Sorry."

"No, go on," Wash teased lightly. "Really, you're entertaining me at the very least."

"You get the point," Tucker said, glad his dark skin probably hid his intense flush. "You're a good person. Really, you are."

The teasing light in his eyes died. "Don't you think you're a little biased?"

Tucker did not have the brainpower to figure that word out at this time of night. "No. When I met you, you were kind of a dick." Wash's face lifted in agreement. "But you turned that around I think."

Wash winced, looking down at his hands as though observing them for the first time. "I did a lot of bad things."

"You've also done a lot of good," Tucker said, and when Wash didn't respond, he reached out and took him by his arm. "Hey," he murmured. "Don't dwell on it."

Wash stared at Tucker's hand, clasped around his arm. Tucker didn't let go though. This physical contact was his way of reaching Washington in a way he couldn't reach him verbally. Finally, Wash seemed to relax. He leaned back, his blonde head banging against the wall the bed was pressed against.

"You're right," Wash said quietly. Tucker finally removed his hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? Maybe another million times?"

"Tucker," Wash said warningly.

"What, I like that sound of you admitting the truth for once."

But Wash didn't look like he was listening. His eyelids were drooping, his breathing a bit deep. Tucker shook his head. "Dude, go to sleep. You look like you could use it."

"Yeah," Wash yawned. "You're probably right." His yaw widened and he brought his hand up to cover his jaw, stretching his other arm over his head. He got to his feet before turning back to the usually aqua-clad soldier. "Thanks for what you said." He didn't blush, but Tucker still felt a little embarrassed that he'd carried away so easily. "And don't worry about Junior. He's smart. Like his father."

"I don't think you could call Crunchbite smart," Tucker said, laying back down while Washington padded back to the door.

"I wasn't talking about him," Wash whispered before leaving.


	9. Mischief Managed

**Mischief Managed**

Tucker ran through his drills, as per usual. It was so ingrained, so much of habit that he started without thinking about it. One hundred squats (he usually never got that far), 50 pushups, 200 situps, a 15 minute plank (who could hold that shit other than Washington?) and upwards of 5 laps around Valhalla (which was a workout unto itself, avoiding the Reds shooting at them when they were in their half of the little canyon).

He was already up to the laps when Caboose pointed out the obvious. Well, he'd done 65 squats, 7 whole pushups, about 30 situps, and he'd skipped the plank part altogether. Either way, he was ready to run when Caboose said the words that made him stop in his tracks, mid-shoe-tie.

"Where is Agent Washington?"

His heart pounded in his chest as he realized that Caboose was right. Tucker couldn't believe he'd gotten almost the whole way through warm-ups not hearing that ungodly voice screaming at him without realizing it. Ordinarily any time Wash wasn't yelling at Tucker to "try to do better" or "keep up slowpoke" or "God you're worse than a middle schooler!" was a good day. However Wash _never_ missed training, never, and Tucker couldn't stop the fear rising in his throat. Because he couldn't help raising the question: If Wash wasn't here shouting himself hoarse at their considerable lack of effort, where was he?

Scenarios played out in Tucker's head, each as unlikely as the other. No, the Reds couldn't have kidnapped them because Wash was a whole lot more badass than they were and also because ex-Freelancer Agent _Washington_ wasn't someone you could just kidnap. Was he sick? Injured? Had he become morbidly depressed in the time since Tucker had last seen him and tried to take his own life? What was going on?

Tucker was halfway across the canyon before he thought to go looking for his friend. _This is stupid_ , he thought. _Wash would think I'm being stupid._ But fueled as he was by his imaginary horrors, he didn't slow down. In fact, his footsteps sped up as he went.

He pounded through the base. Kitchen was empty, bathroom door was wide open, revealing dark emptiness beyond. There was only one other place Tucker could think to look in this god-forsaken empty place. He didn't even stop to think before bursting his way through.

The door of Wash's private quarters slammed into the wall with a loud _bang_! "Wash!" he called, and then froze. Washington twisted in his blankets, his sheets getting caught in his legs and wrapped around his torso, ensnaring him as he tried to sit up. Heat built up in Tucker's face as he realized what was going on.

Wash had been asleep. And Tucker had just woken him up.

"What's going on?" Wash asked, looking around with wide eyes.

"Nothing," Tucker said quickly, moving to close the door. "Go back to sleep."

But Wash wasn't listening. Instead, he picked up his alarm clock from beside his bed. His fingers clasped it, bringing it to his face for closer inspection. "Holy shit!" exclaimed. "It's almost 10 o'clock!"

"Yeah…" Tucker muttered, trying yet again to make his mistake. Wash looked around at him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Why aren't you running drills?"

Tucker rolled his eyes. Getting almost killed several times by the same group of men hadn't deterred Wash from running drills. A late morning and some real sleep definitely wouldn't.

"I already did, dumbass." Wash cocked a brow, his face showing the sarcastic disbelief he wasn't voicing. "Okay, I did everything but the running." Wash still didn't look convinced. "And the plank."

"Well get on it," the blonde commander ordered, beginning to pick his way out of his tangled sheets.

Tucker saw an opportunity he wasn't going to miss. "I get it on all the time. _Bow chicka bow wow_!"

"Jesus Christ," Wash muttered, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

"No, not with him."

Wash groaned loudly, throwing his head back in exasperation. "God _dammit_ just get out of here so I can get dressed!"

Tucker snickered, pulling the door closed behind him. He was supposed to go complete his drills, but instead he just went to the kitchen to find food. There wasn't a ton left, but the next drop was on Tuesday, and they had to finish this shit off before it went bad. After a short minute digging through the fridge, he found what he was looking for. His mouth watered as he picked his prize carefully into his hand and sat down. He peeled his helmet off plopped into the nearest chair and propped his feet up on the one next to it.

The first bite of the delicious cheesecake melted in his mouth. He savored every bit of it, taking another bite. All in all, he had to eat it quickly, otherwise he wouldn't get to finish it before Wash came back.

Speak of the devil… "Tucker," he heard a voice snap. Apparently Wash could get dressed in full body armor rather quick. "What are you doing? Why aren't you running drills?"

"I'm having a mid-morning snack," he explained. Wash stared at him for an extra second. Tucker imagined that the commander was probably rolling his eyes at him. "Look, I get hungry looking after your lazy ass. And let's face it, I deserve a break after all that hard training this morning!"

Wash tugged his helmet off, laying it on the table. Tucker raised an eyebrow, looking at the face before him. Those pretty eyes were looking particularly stern, the pursed lips leaving no room for humor. Tucker froze unconsciously while the CO leaned in.

Suddenly Wash's hands flashed out, snatching Tucker's morning snack straight from his hands. "What?" Tucker asked blankly. "Give that back!" he cried.

Wash blinked at him, smiling cheekily. Slowly, torturously, he lifted the fork to take a bite out of Tucker's favorite food. "Hey!" Tucker whined. Cheesecake was his favorite, and Wash was going to eat the last of it.

"This is good," Wash said through a full mouth. "Get back to work, soldier." Chuckling to himself, he turned to walk out of the room.


	10. MRE

**MRE**

Tucker was still pouting about the incident by evening. After all, cheesecake wasn't easy to come by when you were trapped in a canyon with nowhere to go all your days. He silently seethed at his CO the entire day, and sometimes caught those eyes trained on him, the ghost of a laugh still etched in them.

By the time they were done, he was starved. Of course cheesecake was out, but there was still some beef left over from a barbeque meal they were sent earlier. Otherwise there were only MRE's. The beef was definitely a better option, made all the better because he knew Wash had been saving it.

He plucked the steaming food from their microwave, pulling it to the side to take a heaping bite, only to spit it all out nearly right away. Man that shit was _hot_! Not wanting to look like a pussy, he scooped it back up and took another bite. Tears formed in his eyes while he forced himself to chew and quickly swallow it.

Caboose came into the room, followed by their CO. "That was good running out there," Wash was saying, "but you really need to work on your- _hey!_ " He froze mid-step, eyes trained on Tucker's fork while he twirled another bite.

"What?" he asked innocently, putting his feet up on the table.

Wash looked as though he wanted to say something. His mouth opened and he took a deep breath. But he instead, he sighed heavily. "Nothing," he muttered, turning back to Caboose. "Work on lightening your steps when you run."

Caboose nodded slowly. "Okay. I will do that. I will also work on my farming."

"Go- wait, what?" Tucker snorted at the look of pure confusing on Washington's face.

Caboose was still nodding, as if it were only logical. "You said I need to work on my hay."

Wash looked, if at all possible, even more confused for all of two seconds before he realized. "No, Caboose, I wasn't…That wasn't…that was something else."

"Something else I need to work on, yes." Caboose said shortly.

"No," Wash started, but seemed to think better of it. "You know what, never mind. Just work on your running soldier. And you," he started, turning on Tucker (and completely ignoring Caboose's "Yes sir!").

"Oh no," Tucker muttered under his breath.

"What are you laughing at?" He asked sharply, opening the fridge. Tucker enjoyed the way his face scrunched that the little options they had left.

Tucker popped another bite into his mouth. "Nofink," he said through the bite. The food was just cool enough that he didn't make a face, although his eyes probably watered.

Wash didn't answer, but sat down with a freshly prepared MRE to eat. Tucker felt the tiniest twinge of guilt that the downcast look on his superior's face while he stared at the contents. "Do you want some?" he offered, nudging his plate gently in Wash's direction.

He looked up, almost hopefully at the still steaming plate of brisket before shaking his head. "No, it's yours."

"Suit yourself," Tucker said, pulling his plate back and taking another bite. He should have known better.

There was no surprise quite as great as the ones Washington would sometimes dump on people. For instance, whenever Wash said his elusive "that's what she said" jokes that always always _always_ caught Tucker off guard. Once he'd even said Tucker's catchphrase. The aqua soldier had felt almost violated after that, and had had to retreat for the rest of the day.

But Wash was not exactly humorless either, and there were moments when he'd do or say things simply to pull your leg. It was always in good fun, but still. It should not have come as a surprise to Tucker when Washington suddenly lunged forward, pulling his plate away and somehow managing to get the fork with it.

"Aha!" he exclaimed joyfully.

"Hey!" Tucker snapped. "I was eating that."

"And I was saving it," Wash said, spearing a piece of meat with the fork. His eyes lit up as he took the bite. Tucker tried not to let himself get distracted.

"You're a prick!"

"And you're slow," Wash countered again. The words were muffled by the food, but the message was clear just the same.

Tucker pouted. "That's the second time you stole food from me today," he muttered. Would he _never_ get to finish a meal around this asshole?

Maybe something about his face softened his CO. Maybe Wash was trying to flirt with him again. Either way Tucker was again caught off guard when Wash held out the fork, a thick chunk of meat attached. "Here," he said quietly. Tucker hesitated, unsure if Wash was being serious or not. There was something there in Wash's face that Tucker couldn't quite read. It definitely wasn't humor. In fact, he wasn't sure what it was. He'd never seen it before. Either way, it was a tempting offer, and he'd rather give it a go than not eat at all. So he leaned forward and bit the food straight off the fork.

His eyes met Washington's. _Why is he staring at me like that_? Wash had to feel it too, because he kept his hand with the fork hovering in the air perhaps a second longer than he should. The superior smiled and Tucker blinked. Wash had a beautiful smile. His heart pounded in his chest as he examined the pearly whites. He had never noticed before that they were not perfectly ramrod straight. Wash must not have had braces as a kid.

God that smile was gorgeous, even with crooked teeth. He was glad his dark skin covered the heat creeping across his face and pulling his own cheeks into a smile.

"Are you going to feed me next?" Caboose asked. Tucker might have thought the idiot was making fun of them if he hadn't known him better. No, Caboose was serious.

But the question was enough to snap both men back to the kitchen. "No, Caboose, we were just playing a game," Wash answered, coming back quicker than Tucker did. Quietly he handed over the plate of now mostly eaten food, gathered his MRE, and left the kitchen.

Tucker stared down at his plate and smiled.


	11. Riddle Me This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like this one. It took a much more serious tone than I'd originally intended. Also, I just got done reading like EVERYTHING [saltsanford](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsanford/pseuds/saltsanford) ever wrote on this website, so I'm kinda stuck in their POV. (sometimes switching between present and past tense). Since I don't have a beta, I sometimes miss things like that. Which reminds me...
> 
> If you're interested in beta-ing this story, feel free to message me ASAP and we can set something up, cause I could definitely use another pair of eyes on my work before I post it. Just remember to address me as Cara Lea when you do so bc I'm using my brother's account (that's who BlakeBroflovski is and feel free to read his work too).
> 
> Thanks everyone!  
> -CL

**Riddle Me This**

There was no way in hell Washington was getting any sleep that night. The fact that he'd managed to get even an inkling of sleep the night before was a mystery to him. Perhaps his conversation with Tucker had worn him out emotionally just enough to fall asleep. He had dreamed, he thought. It was as though he could still see the little alien child in his mind's eye.

He wrapped his arm tighter around himself, drawing the blankets more towards his torso and exposing one singular foot. That was the way he liked to sleep: one foot poking out of the covers and everything else wrapped tightly in a blanket. Sometimes, if he was particularly distraught, he would throw a second blanket over his chest (never his legs). His arms were always out. Even he rest, he was prepared for the worst.

Tonight was not a restful night, even though he was perhaps _more_ tired that before. After a night of blank sleep, his brain and body craved more like a drug. However his mind was not at ease. Thoughts kept fluttering his brain just as he was on the edge of sleep. So tantalizingly close to unconsciousness, and then another one would come and tickle him back to the darkness of his barracks.

How he hated it.

Apparently he wasn't the only one awake. In fact, he could hear footsteps outside his door. He listened carefully, trying to figure out who it was. Judging by the lightness, the way they seemed to drag forward, heel clicking a second before the ball of the foot, he could only guess. They came closer until they stopped right outside his door.

There was hesitation, as if the person on the other side did not know what to do. Wash took it out of his hands. "You can come in, Tucker." Another moment went by before the Sim trooper pushed the door open to join his CO.

Wash sat up, making room for Tucker on his bed. The other man hesitated, uncertainty obvious in his every movement, but sat down nonetheless. There was something about the way he sat there, only about a foot away, that put them both on edge. He couldn't say _what_ it was about Tucker's presence that had him irritated. It wasn't he fact that he sincerely wanted to fuck his brains out and there Tucker was _in his bed_ with him. No there was something else there too.

Wash's breath hitched in his throat as he ran over this new feeling in his chest. To say he was not an emotional man was quite an understatement. Whenever Wash had… _feelings…_ for somebody, they always ended up hurt. Sometimes dead. It was easier, way easier to detach himself from such things. A casual lay was fun and all that, but he never let it get so serious lest everyone end up hurt.

No wonder the emotions currently swirling in his chest as he stared at Tucker had him a little freaked out. What _was_ that? Affection, maybe? He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to drag Tucker into this head of his. He wanted to tell Tucker right then and there to leave, to get out and keep walking and maybe he would go a little rough on him in training tomorrow just to get the point across. Send Tucker away _now_ before anything happened that could get him hurt.

Instead he shifted perhaps a smidgen closer and leaned forward absently. "What's up?"

Tucker half glanced at him, as though he too were nervous. Wash wondered if it was the electric air that threw off the snappy soldier's edge. "Me, apparently."

"Can't sleep?" Wash asked gently. He winced at the tone in his voice, hoping against hope that Tucker didn't hear it.

"Yeah, took a page out of your book Wash," Tucker said with a humorless chuckle.

Wash leaned forward again, this time to ease the rolling cramps starting in his abdomen. Sometimes when he didn't sleep for too long, he got gassy. Now was not the time. "What, wandering the halls?"

"Annoying sleeping people," Tucker said, and he smirked so genuine that Wash stopped wiggling in his place just to stare. Tucker chuckled again and continued. "At least you _should_ be sleeping. I was looking forward to waking _you_ up for once."

Wash frowned. He never slept, really. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Hark who's talking!" Tucker pointed out. "You _never_ sleep Wash. Always wandering the halls at night. Have you ever considered sleeping pills?"

He hesitates, not sure how to answer. "Sleeping pills don't help," he sighs at last, leaning back into a more comfortable position and ignoring the swooping feeling in his gut. "I- nothing really helps."

Tucker frowned at him again, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. "Well _something_ works. Otherwise you wouldn't sleep at all."

"I don't," Wash admitted quietly, but Tucker shook his head.

"You were sleeping last night."

Wash could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks as his thought train comes screeching back to the forefront of his mind. His brain just _had_ to remind him of his theory _right then_. "I guess I crashed," he mumbled, but Tucker is staring at him and he can see the cogs turning….

"Maybe talking helps," Tucker said after a minute. "Sure as fuck helps me."

"Really?" Wash all but whispered. He didn't want to sound so damn dramatic again but the way Tucker was sitting so close to him and the way his body wanted to do so many inappropriate things and when he can feel that burning twisting feeling in his gut and knew that not all of it was from his bad gas…

"Fuck yeah," Tucker said, sounding so calm and self-assured. Wash thought his heart skipped a beat. "Calmed my fucking nerves." He turned to stare at Wash again and he bit his lip in nerves. "So…wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" he asked.

Tucker rolled his eyes. "I don't know, whatever's keeping you up."

What _was_ keeping him up? So many thoughts crept into his head at once he shivered. There was Connie- the last person he'd actually had _feelings_ for (and the time he'd decided not to feel anything for anyone anymore)- the first time he'd seen Kansas in armor, the way Freelancer almost killed him _so many times_ , the day he'd been implanted with Epsilon, finding his new family in Blue Team, and there's so much of it it's breaking his head open.

_Yeah_ he thought. _He wants to talk about_. But he can't. Tucker didn't know, didn't understand, but Wash knew that talking about it would be dwelling on things he's not ready to dwell on. So instead of answering the question like an intelligent and rational person he mouthed wordlessly for several minutes before Tucker spoke over him. "Alright. Just thought I'd check."

Wash stared at him for a long moment. Why was Tucker _there_? He understood needing to walk around and even needing to find comfort in friends. But Wash is his CO, and they spend half their time fighting or arguing, and it's not like Wash is a very emotionally supportive person. So _why_ was he _there_?

"How about a riddle?" Tucker asked suddenly, looking over at him. "Riddles will probably put us both to sleep. Know any good riddles?"

He should know plenty. After all, Florida absolutely loved these types of things. However in that moment none of them came to mind. So he said the first thing he thought up: "What two things can you not eat for breakfast?"

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Lunch and dinner, bro. Come on, think of something better than that!"

Wash sat, thinking. "Okay, so here's a riddle for you. I'm going to tell you a prompt. You have to finish the story by asking questions. I can only answer 'yes' or 'no' to your questions." Tucker tilted his head as Wash went on. "Here's the prompt: a man is running down a long, narrow hallway carrying a piece of paper. The lights suddenly flicker and the man stops running, looking sad. What happened?"

Tucker gaped at him in astonishment. "How the fuck am I supposed to know that?"

Wash snickered. "That's not a yes or no question, soldier."

Tucker shook his head, his main of dreads tapping against his shoulders. "Okay. So let me get this straight. I am supposed to tell you what happened?"

Wash smiles. "Yes."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he said, clapping his hands together and looking extra smug. "A man was running down a hallway when the lights flickered and it made him sad, yeah?"

Wash rolled his eyes, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "You're supposed to tell me _why_ , Tucker."

"Oh, well you didn't say that." Tucker frowned again and appeared to actually be thinking it over. "The flickering lights are important?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Wash didn't answer, just smiled. Tucker groaned and continued with the questions. Time seemed to become meaningless in that moment. They could have sat there for years and Wash doesn't think he would mind. At some point he can't help it and allows himself to fart loudly, causing Tucker to positively _shriek_ with laughter. And then they're competing to see who can crack the worst farts, the riddle forgotten for a moment until they come back to it, Tucker still confused and getting mildly frustrated (which Wash actually kind of enjoys in his own sick way).

He knew it's unprofessional, knew he shouldn't have allowed himself to do this because god _damn_ emotions are hard. But Tucker makes it easy, and they can laugh as their jokes slowly become more and more dirty. Maybe later he would get to thinking just how _wrong_ it is that he enjoys Tucker's company so much, but in that moment, he couldn't stop himself from laughing at Tucker's innuendoes and smiling nastily as Tucker's questions became more specific, trying to solve the riddle.

It must have been hours when Wash found himself leaning back against the wall, Tucker's head in his lap and shaking his hair against Wash's legs. "I don't get it dude. I understand the papers are important. That the flickering light as to do with a power outage, and the dude is sad _because_ the lights flicker. But that's it. I'm out."

Wash stifled another laugh. _God he's so tired he feels drunk._ He didn't want to spoil it for the aqua soldier, but Tucker is already blinking heavily up at him and he can't help but think that Tucker probably wouldn't be awake much longer. "The papers are a pardon for a criminal sentenced to death," he says, sobering up slightly. "And the man was sad because the flickering lights means the man's been electrocuted."

"That's sick, dude," Tucker muttered into his kneecaps, having rolled onto his side. "Where do you come up with this shit?"

"I don't," Wash answered, a little abashed. "That one was Florida."

Tucker grunted in a sort of non-committal way and Wash feels a wave of guilt. As he had come to understand over the years, Florida, AKA Butch Flowers, had been Tucker's captain at Blood Gulch. In that moment he doesn't know if Tucker has made that connection yet, and he didn't want to be the one to help him learn that.

For a blazing moment, he felt all the guilt from his years of Freelancer building to a sort of burst. All those Simulation Outposts he'd trained at. Well not _him_ exactly, but he knew the teams that did. They had, without so much as a falter, wiped out entire bases of Simulation Troops for…what? Training? Back then it had almost made sense. In order to know this equipment worked, they needed to work with it _in the field._ But not the real field, where the Freelancers could fuck up the mission. They'd needed a practice field to get started. That's what the Red and Blue soldiers had been to them.

It had taken a long time before Wash was ready to face the consequences of those actions, to understand that these"Sim Troopers" were real people, and they'd been killed off like animals for slaughter.

And now here he was, curled up with, lusting after, _feeling_ things for one of those very Sim Troopers. One who years ago he probably would have killed without a second thought.

"Tucker," he began, not entirely sure what to say. But a soft snore cuts him off mid-apology-honest-moment-thing. Tucker was already fast asleep.


End file.
